


Only The Good Die Young   [Good Omens AU]

by derpstiel



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anathema Device Ships Aziraphale/Crowley, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bisexual Crowley (Good Omens), Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gay Aziraphale (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Matchmaker Anathema Device, Minor Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Musician Crowley (Good Omens), Musicians, One Shot, The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:13:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23566642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derpstiel/pseuds/derpstiel
Summary: Crowley is a musician, living from pay check to pay check. Aziraphale is a rich, upper class man with his life laid out ahead of him. They couldn't be more different.But when the two meet at a party, they discover they may have more in common than they thought.Light, fun, fluffy, with a hint of sad pasts. Ultimately a meet-cute.
Relationships: Anathema Device & Newton Pulsifer, Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Anathema Device, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Newton Pulsifer
Comments: 3
Kudos: 77





	Only The Good Die Young   [Good Omens AU]

"You _have_ to come. You have to, you have to, you _have_ to!"

Aziraphale Novak sighed and placed the book he was holding back on its shelf. He stared at his friend, who had her puppy dog face on, and she knew he was terrible at saying no to that, damn it. 

"Anathema, you know I would, but I'm so busy here." He gestured around him to where the bookshop was, decidedly void of any customers. "Besides, you know my family don't approve of those sort of outings."

It was true. Aziraphale's family were... old-fashioned to say the least. Him being the youngest should have meant that he'd have the least responsibility. Unfortunately, his older brother Gabriel had gone and gotten himself a very successful career as a lawyer, which meant he never heard the end of it. Gabriel this, Gabriel that, why can't you be more like Gabriel? His parents, even though he knew that they loved him, would not be happy with the idea of Aziraphale spending his life in a bookshop. He was twenty-five, and he still had no idea what he wanted to do in his life.

As you can imagine, this placed a great deal of pressure on him. He always felt like he should be doing _something_ at any given moment, he was just never sure _what._ The thought of telling his family that he wanted to go out to a party was similar to telling them that he wanted to give up on ever having a "successful" and "proper" career, and that he was promptly moving into a crack house. 

Anathema leaned slightly against the small ladder that Aziraphale was propped up on to reach the higher book shelves, and pondered for a moment. "You could always just tell them you're staying at mine. We've done that before, remember?" 

He did. His parents absolutely adored Anathema. Or, at least, who they thought Anathema was. Aziraphale had warned her before he'd brought her over to his house that his parents were posh, and Anathema being the slightly insane person that Aziraphale had grown to know and love, she had gone all out. Bought a fancy dress, learned proper eating etiquette and formal address. The dinner had ended with his parents singing her praises. Unfortunately for Aziraphale, this meeting, coupled with the fact that Anathema and he were still frequent friends, also meant that his parents assumed that they would marry. When he told Anathema this, she had not stopped laughing for a solid three days.

Because Aziraphale, shockingly, with his tartan bow ties, was gay. A complete and utter pansy, actually. He'd always known, he'd grown up believing that anybody could love anybody, and while this should have been the truth, he learned around the age of fifteen that this was not the case for everybody. The first time somebody had called him a slur, he hadn't even known what it meant. But said in that derogatory tone, he could understand the feeling behind it.

The homophobe in question had found it greatly amusing - until Anathema's fist collided with his nose that is. He left them well enough alone after that, and Anathema and Aziraphale begun a life-long friendship. Roughly ten years later, Aziraphale had learned not to let it bother him as much. With Anathema by his side, people either assumed they were a couple, or they backed off as soon as she begun advancing. It was like having the worlds most protective guard dog.

Regardless, having Anathema also meant that his parents would let him do whatever he wanted as long as it was with her. The only problem was that Aziraphale was a terrible liar, so he never used this to his advantage unless he actually was going to be with her. His parents weren't cruel, per say, they were simply cold. But to Aziraphale, coldness was better than nothing at all, and he would remain constantly afraid of losing it. 

"You wouldn't even have to lie," Anathama said, as if reading his mind, "You'd be with me and you'd be staying in my house. It's technically must omission of truth." 

"The girls right", Samuel, the old bookshop owner chimed in from around the corner. 

Aziraphale jumped at the sound of his voice. _How long had he been listening?_ , he thought.

Samuel was in his sixties, and probably the only thing Aziraphale had to a friend apart from Anathema. He had given Aziraphale a job in the bookshop, and let him borrow as many books as he wanted when he needed pages to keep him company. He never asked questions, and for that Aziraphale was grateful.

"You've earned a day off, kid, get out there and have some fun before you get too old to have it."

Before Aziraphale could protest, Samuel gave a nod, and with an almost silent promise of saying nothing else, turned back to the store room and disappeared. Anathema turned back to Aziraphale with a grin on her face. 

" _Well?_ What do you say?" 

Aziraphale groaned. He was not getting out of this one. 

"Whose party did you say this was again?"

\------

Somewhere else, not too far away, was a pacing brown haired boy, and his slightly older, more exasperated friend. 

"Newt, please for the love of anything, would you _relax?_ You're creating a draft." 

Anthony Crowley sat on the stool at the near empty bar and leaned carelessly against it.

"I can't help it, what if they don't come? What if they thought it was a different date? What if they don't like the music? What if-"

"Oi," Newt was cut off almost immediately with an indignant tone, "They'll like the music, that's for sure."

Anthony, or Crowley as he preferred to be called - "It definitely makes me sound more badass" - sat up straight and studied the younger boy a little more carefully. Newt had run his hands through his hair so many times it had begun to stick straight up into the air. He was a nervous sort, Crowley had known that the minute he met the boy. 

They'd ran into each other by chance at one of Crowley'd gigs, five years ago. A rather enthusiastic eighteen year old Newt had offered his hand for Crowley to shake and knocked his drink all over the wires that Crowley had set up - and the sockets - promptly throwing off all the electricity within a two mile radius. In his haste to apologise, he had tripped over his own shoelace and bust his lip on the small stage. Later when Crowley was patching up Newt's face with an exasperated sigh and a pocketful of extra cash from the bar owner for his troubles, he learned that the boy worked in IT. Crowley urged him to resign, immediately and pick a different sector. 

Newt didn't listen. Instead, he took a couple of computer courses, and could now, five years later, honest to god, turn one on. Crowley felt the same sort of pride you'd feel when a six year old learns how to tie their laces correctly and shows you. 

To any outsider, their friendship was an odd one. Crowley, with all his wannabe rock star look, hair as red as fire itself and exclusively black clothing did not seem to be the type to hang around with slightly younger, oddball nerds in desperate need of an inflatable full body suit. But Crowley knows what its like to be an oddball. Being kicked out of your family home at the age of sixteen does that to you. It hurt at the time, desperately needing somewhere to sleep, being all too familiar with bus stations and the aching feeling of hunger, but at soon as he hit rock bottom, help came in an unexpected way.

Thanks to Beelzebub, Crowley always had a place to stay and a full stomach. Their meeting was by chance, but Crowley preferred to think of it as fate giving him a helping hand. Beelzebub was older than Crowley, maybe by five or six years, and when they found a sleeping cold child by their doorstep, they brought him in, no questions asked. Crowley lived with Beelzebub for a year before he again heard from his parents - if they could be called that. They wrote and told him that they had transferred a substantial amount of money in order for him to get "treatment", so he could come home. Crowley accepted the money, gave half of it to Beelzebub for thanks, and took the other half to rent himself a small apartment in the town. He ripped up the letter they sent with it, because fuck them. He would go on kissing boys and girls and whoever else he liked, and there was absolutely nothing they could do about it. 

He'd taken his guitar when he got kicked out. It was the first thing he'd bought with money he'd saved up, and he had gotten pretty good at it, so he'd be damned if he left it behind. Other than that, all he had to his name was a couple items of clothing and fifty pounds. When that inevitably ran out, he started playing songs on the streets, hoping for enough to last the day. It had worked, mostly. He had come across a few drunks and vandals during his time, and even gotten himself into a few fights, but he scraped by. Now look at him. Twenty five years old, still singing for drunks, but with an added bonus of having a roof over his head and a place to go when everyone else left. 

Music was Crowley's escape. He liked to dream of being the person to write them, pretend to be someone else for a while and give a performance. When he was tired of being himself, he turned to become his favourite artists.

Crowley turned his attention back to the anxious boy in front of him. He wasn't great at comfort, but after five years of knowing Newt, he had a rough idea of how best to calm him down. 

"Who did you say you invited?" Crowley said, prompting Newt to pause and think. 

"Uhhh, James, Robert, Anne, and a couple of co-workers. Not many people, but I thought the bar would be more crowded so I don't look like I don't have many friends."

"Well, relax. It's not even five o'clock. The party doesn't start for another four and a half hours, and it's only starting then because you said you wanted to give them notice," Crowley noticed Newt visibly calm slightly while he took deep breaths. "The only reason we're here is so I can set up, and you can have a drink to settle your nerves. Hey, didn't you say you'd invited that cute girl from work, whatsherface, you said she had what, hair as brown as cowboy boots? Which I only remember because it might've been the weirdest analogy that I've ever heard."

Newt flushed. "Her name is Anathema. And yes, I invited her." He paused. "What if she doesn't come? Maybe she only said yes because I asked her face to face and she couldn't think of an excuse? Maybe she's not going to show at all? Maybe...maybe I just need more balloons."  
  


Crowley winced, looking around the room, where Newt had places balloon on every corner, every table leg, every windowsill, even Crowley's mic stand.

"Oh, god no. No more balloons." 

_____

"Anathema, really, this is ridiculous."

Aziraphale frowned, looking at himself in the mirror in Anathema's bedroom. He tried on several combinations of clothing items that he'd sneakily retrieved from his house. 

"Nothing looks right. I look like a croissant." 

Aziraphale returned behind the screen that was hiding him, unbuttoned the brown shirt he had had on and tossed it over to where Anathema was sitting on the bed. He should never have let his mother talk him into buying that, it was a horrible colour on him, but as already established by the fact that he was going to a party, Aziraphale has a very hard time saying no when he should. 

"I mean, yes, but you looked like a very pretty croissant." Anathema giggled, opening her makeup bag and ruffling through it. "I'm sure you have something else to wear that will look wonderful. You might just be the most stylish person I know." 

Aziraphale was willing to admit she had a point. He had a very particular style, which included long old coats, bow ties and unique patterns. He found that most people did not seem to like the style as much as he did, but for the most part he didn't care. On this occasion, however, he was out of his depth. He didn't feel as though he could wear a huge stylish coat to a casual bar party, and he told Anathema as much.

When she got that look in her eye, he should've run. He should've backed out, saying " _sorry, no can do, I have plans to be anywhere but here"._ He should have recognised it a mile away. You can't be friends with Anathema and not know how stubborn she is. Aziraphale knew this, and therefore he should have been ready. But he wasn't, and that is how Aziraphale ended up being dragged by Anathema to the nearest clothes store. 

When they got there, Aziraphale immediately regretted his not running decision. He never bought his clothes in regular stores if he could help it, no he always searched thrift shops and small little shops tucked away in the corner of the town that nobody else but him knew about. He didn't buy jeans or fancy accessories. All in all, he dressed about forty years older than his age. Therefore, mildly uncomfortable was an understatement at the moment. 

Anathema immediately ushered him into the changing rooms, and thrust several shirts and other items into his hands before he could protest. Because he tried to. Protest, that is. But with a couple of "no buts!", Anathema had disappeared to find more clothes, and Aziraphale was left alone.

He sighed and started looking through what he'd been given. They weren't terrible choices, to be fair. He should've known Anathema wouldn't throw him directly in the deep end by himself with no arm bands. Trying his best to ignore the terrible pop music blaring through the speakers of the shop, he held a couple of shirts up against himself before choosing to discard them on one of the hooks - they were decidedly _not_ his colour. But this one. This one could do. It was light blue, and when Aziraphale tried it on, he found it was form fitting, but not too snug. It emphasised his broad shoulders and brought out the colour in his eyes. He looked for a pair of trousers that would match in the items that he'd been given, and found a pair that were almost white, but not quite. 

"Aziraphale, I think I may have found...some...things." 

Anathema trailed off the second Aziraphale stepped out of the changing room and gasped softly. "That's it, that's the one, okay forget these, lets go."

Aziraphale grinned and turned back to look at himself in the mirror. Maybe this was a good idea after all. Despite himself, he felt a feeling of excitement bubble in his chest.

After a few squabbles over who got to pay - "Honestly Anathema, you've been here for over a decade, you should know by now to let a British man pay" - they were off.

_______

By ten o'clock, the party was in full swing. Crowley had played a couple of songs that were crowd-pleasers just to make sure everyone headed to dance as soon as they came in. It had been a surprisingly lively night. Most Saturdays were packed yes, but it was almost as if everyone had had such a hard week, they all decided to recover from it in this specific bar. Like a hive mind. 

Most of Newt's nervousness was gone, and he seemed to be enjoying himself from what Crowley could see. He grinned when he saw one of Newt's work friends slap him on the back in friendly greeting, causing him to give a nervous smile and spill a good third of his drink. Crowley hadn't seen the girl Newt had talked about though, he did hope she would show up, he knew how much it would mean to Newt. It's not like he had fantastic luck with the ladies in the past, so her mere appearance would be something that Newt would talk about for weeks to come.

During a short intermission, Crowley went to get a drink, and stumbled into the birthday boy himself. Anyone would've known, because Newt had in his hands, a massive pile of birthday cards, from all of his work friends and several others that he had invited. Crowley had seriously underestimated how incredibly dorky Newt's entire workplace was, and was utterly baffled when they started handing in cards and requesting him to play "Sweet Caroline". Maybe that was down to the fact that he rarely got birthday cards for the past eight or nine years. He had sang the song though. Only for Newt. It was as they all shouted the lyrics in perfect sync that Crowley realised maybe his hive mind idea had some validity. 

"Having a good time?" Crowley grinned at the overwhelmed boy, reminding him of a child at Christmas. 

"The best," a breathless Newt responded. He paused and then frowned for a moment. "I wish Anathema had come though, I really wanted to see her again."

Crowley nodded his thanks to the bartender and took a sip of his drink. "Well, the night is still young. You never know, she might just be fixing her hair or something for you."

Newt laughed and was about to respond when he heard his name being called. He turned to look at Crowley expectantly, as if asking permission. The man gave a chuckle and all but nudged him away.

"Go, enjoy your party kid, if you have any requests, let me know, and I'll immediately chuck them."

Newt laughed and shot Crowley a grin of thanks as he disappeared into the small crowd of people.

 _Back to the stage we go,_ Crowley thought. 

_______

"Anathema, come _on_. You can't woo this boy if you never get to see him tonight."

Anathema stood up and finally, finally uttered the words that Aziraphale had been waiting on for three hours. "Okay, I'm ready."

She gigged at his relieved face and smoothed down her flowy skirt. "I'm surprised you're so eager, considering I practically had to drag you all day today. How do I look?"

"Beautiful," Aziraphale answered honestly and immediately, because she did. Wearing her trademark black clothes, with her wavy hair flowing down her back, Anathema always looked effortlessly stunning. Sadly for an impatient Aziraphale, it was definitely not effortless, as he had been waiting for three hours to get her on her feet and out the door.

By the time they'd left the house and arrived at the door of the pub, Aziraphale was bouncing nervously on his feet. He kept raising his hand to run it through his hair, and each time he had gotten smacked on the wrist by Anathema, who had spent time styling it earlier. Whatever she put in it must be strong, because not a single hair had fallen out of place yet. 

"Relax, Zira, most parties don't start - _stop that_ ," she swatted his hand away from hair hair once again, "- most parties don't start until an hour or so after they're meant to. It's only half ten, so by all intents, we're on time." 

When Anathema pushed open the door and they heard the music, she grinned at him, as if to say " _see? I was right"._ They made a beeline for the bar, not stopping for anyone else until they'd sat down. Aziraphale felt with certainty it would take a lot to make him leave this stool. He'd just gotten here, and was already tired. He hid it well from Anathema, who he didn't need chiding from - " _Just because you dress like an older man, doesn't mean you are one. Now stop yawning before I make you actually dance._ \- but thankfully, he didn't need to for long, because after she had downed her shot in one, she looked at him, said "I'm gonna find Newt", and disappeared. 

Aziraphale smiled - she really did deserve to find love with this young man. So, he might be a hopeless romantic, sue him. He wanted to believe in fairy tales, in love at first sight, and all of that. He had come to terms that it would never happen to him, but why should that mean he shouldn't be happy for other people? He felt his drink order being put in front of him, and he thanked the bartender graciously, leaving a tip. 

He lifted his glass to take a sip, and immediately stopped. 

_"_ Guys and gals, and all my other pals, that was "Don't Stop Me Now", otherwise known as a good song. I swear, if any of you ask me to sing "Sweet Caroline" _again,_ please kindly ask Martin to escort you out."

Aziraphale had turned around to see who the owner of that lovely voice was, and soon realised it was the musician. But this man was unlike any musician Aziraphale had ever seen before. With a white shirt and possibly the tightest pair of black jeans _\- those can't possibly be comfortable_ -he looked like he should be on the cover of a magazine. And that _hair_ , it was like flames, and Aziraphale immediately felt hot. The man turned to look at Martin, who Aziraphale realised too late, was the bartender directly behind him, and found himself making direct eye contact. 

The man stopped and stared at him, and for Aziraphale, the world seemed to spin slightly. The chattering voices dimmed to a hum, the other sights faded, and all that he could see was this absolutely _gorgeous_ man behind his mic stand, which had... balloons on it?

Aziraphale used all of his strength to look away and as quickly as it had begun, the world came back into focus. The voices grew to their normal volume, which now somehow seemed deafening. Anathema appeared by his side, but before he could register anything that she was saying, he glanced back at the man on the stage and was startled to see that he was still staring at Aziraphale. 

"Aziraphale? Are you listening?" 

"What, sorry?" Aziraphale pulled his eyes back to Anathema and tried to focus on what she was saying to him.

"I told Newt how I felt about him."

He glanced back at the stage to find the man busying himself with his instrument, and Aziraphale felt a loss of warmth at the lack of eye contact.

"That's wonderful, I'm very happy for you."

Anathema stared at him in confusion, and tilted her head. "Okay, I'll let that slide because you look like you're about to faint. What's going on, are you okay?"

Aziraphale gripped the ledge of the bar and forced his heart to stop doing somersaults in his chest. Maybe he was going to faint. What the hell was that? Did this man have demon eyes or something and had placed a curse on him?

 _You're being ridiculous, pull it together_.

He took a deep breath and looked up at the concerned woman beside him. 

"I'm fine, don't worry about me. Wait... you said you told him? How did it go?" 

Anathema did not look convinced, she knew him better than he knew himself most of the time. Which means she also knew when to let something go. 

"He sort of looked as white as you do right now, and then he stammered out a 'me too', which I assume means he feels the same way?"

"You didn't check or confirm with him?"

"No, I came straight over to tell you."

Aziraphale, who was in the middle of taking a sip of his drink, choked and managed a laugh. 

"What are you doing? You can't just tell a guy you like him, and then disappear on him, go, go back to him and confirm."

Anathema, who had ordered another drink, slammed it back, said "Okay, okay, wish me luck!", and vanished once more. 

Aziraphale shook his head fondly, allowed himself once more look at the guitar player, who seemed ready to play, a smile on his face, staring at somebody else in the crowd, and ordered another drink from Martin. 

It was going to be a long, long night.

_____  
  


_Holy shit, who is that?_

That had been Crowley's first thought when he made eye contact with the beautiful man at the bar. The second was _Have I died, because he looks remarkably angelic?_

The man in question had been sitting seemingly alone, in a light blue shirt that only emphasised how halo-like his lovely blonde curls were. He'd been startled to look over, expecting Martin, and see this person staring right back at him. For a moment, Crowley entirely forgot where he was and what he was doing - or meant to be doing. The only thing he could think of was how badly he wanted to get off the stage he was on, and go talk to the mysterious stranger. He looked around the same age as Crowley, and he definitely did not remember Newt mentioning somebody like this at his work. He could only assume anyway, as someone who looked like that would surely have a name fitting for his appearance. 

So, after a couple of songs, four or five or six, he hadn't kept count, Crowley had found himself on auto-pilot, excusing himself for a break and making his way over to where the man was sitting. He hadn't noticed Crowley yet, and he did not want to startle him. So, he slid onto the stool near by him, and ordered a drink. Chancing it, he decided to glance over, only to make eye contact again. Up close, Crowley could see the small freckles on his face and the startling blue colour of his eyes, and it momentarily knocked the wind out of him. 

"Erm, hi." 

_Hi? No smooth pick up line or anything? Who have you become, Crowley?_

He needn't have worried about his first opening line, as it was becoming apparent that this man, whoever he was, was having trouble forming words at all. He'd opened his mouth slightly a couple of times, but sound was just not happening for him today. Eventually he stammered out a "Sorry, hello."

Crowley grinned at him, slowly regaining his composure. He wondered how this man would react if Crowley _had_ been able to deliver a good pick-up line. 

"I, uh, saw you staring at me while I was up there," he gestured vaguely to the stage that he'd just left, "Did you want a request?"

The man blushed a wonderful shade of pink, right to the tips of his ears, and he looked into his glass as if it would provide him with the words and answers that he needed. Apparently, lack of eye contact had made him braver as he replied: "No, I was just curious." 

"Well in that case, I'm curious too," Crowley made a big show of sliding off the stool to stand next to the man, who flushed more than Crowley thought possible from another human being, "I'm very curious as to who you are. I don't think I've ever seen you in here before, and, trust me, I'd know. My name is Crowley, by the way." 

Crowley felt a strong urge to be as close as possible to this man, as if he was being pulled by invisible strings. He was so close that he could feel the warmth radiating off the stranger, and it was more intoxicating than any of the alcohol he had already consumed tonight. Crowley knew himself well enough to recognise the attraction to him, but there was an underlying feel of something else that he could not quite place. 

"My name is-"

The mysterious man was cut off very abruptly by the sound of raised voices from the back of the pub. Crowley spun around to see that it looked like the beginning of an argument, which was very likely going to escalate into a fight. 

"Shit. Excuse me, I'll be back." Crowley winked and turned to go to the stage. He winced at his own terrible flirting skills, before remembering the problem at hand. He grabbed his guitar and did what he did best.

"Hey, hey fellas, it's a party, not a match, lets all relax with this one."

As he strummed the first few chords, he hoped this would work.

_Come out Virginia, don't make me wait,_

_You catholic girls start much too late_

_Ah, but sooner or later, it comes down to faith_

_I might as well be the one_

_You know that only the good die young_

_________

Crowley definitely knew what he was doing up there. Crowley. Aziraphale mumbled the name in his mouth as if tasting it for the first time. He had felt the man's presence as soon as he'd sat down beside him, but he hadn't expected Crowley to strike up a conversation with him, much less _flirt_ with him. Was he flirting? Or was it wishful thinking? Aziraphale was absolutely terrible with subtlety. But there were few other explanations as to why Crowley would be that close, so close that he could look into those amber eyes that had temporarily paralysed him, so close he could see the slight dampness of his forehead from performing under the lights. 

He'd spoken to Aziraphale, asked his name, and Aziraphale had never appreciated being able to talk so freely, until he couldn't. He knew what he wanted to say. Something along the lines of: _Hello, I saw you up there on stage. You're very talented. Anyway, this might sound crazy, but I have a feeling I should get your number and take you out on a date._ But of course he couldn't say that. Watching Crowley strut his way back to the stage to interrupt what would be a fight, he realised he couldn't say that. People like him don't date people like Azirphale. He was probably just being polite...right?

Crowley's voice rang through the room and he began to play. Aziraphale recognised the song and he allowed himself to smile. This was one of his favourites. 

_Well they showed you a statue, told you to pray_

_Built you a temple and locked you away_

_Aw, but they never told you the price that you'd pay_

_For things that you might have done_

_Darlin, only the good die young_

Fighting abandoned, the room was once again full of dancing people. Aziraphale looked around for Anathema and found that she was trying to teach Newt some dance moves. The poor boy had two left feet, but thankfully enough alcohol in his body to let him give it a try. He glanced up at the stage where Crowley was performing and watched him smile as he strummed the next few chords. Aziraphale found himself smiling along, it was infectious. 

_Come on, Virginia, show me a sign_

_Send up a signal, I'll throw you the line_

_The stained glass curtain you're hiding behind_

_Never lets in the sun_

_Darlin, only the good die young_

At that last line, Crowley glanced over at Aziraphale who had been watching intently, and winked once again, giving a little performance as he did so. Aziraphale was sure he was turning red and he lifted his drink to his face to try to disguise it. Crowley seemed to realise however, and grinned in a way that one could almost describe as gleeful.

Aziraphale was suddenly aware that there was someone beside him. He looked over to see Anathema giving him a knowing smile. He was suddenly very aware that he was staring, and his expression faltered for a second and then he glanced back as if to say " _I dont know what you mean"._ But knowing Anathema, it was no use. Within five seconds, she was right up on the stool beside him. 

" _Who_ is that? And why are you making all cute faces at him?"

"I am _not_ making cute faces at him! I don't even know what that means! I don't even know who he is!"

Aziraphale did not know why he was trying, the girl was too persistent for her own good. 

_They say there's a heaven for those who will wait_

_Some say its better but I say it ain't_

_I'd rather laugh with the sinners_

_Than cry with the saints_

_The sinners are much more fun_

_You know, only the good die young_

If anything was going to make Aziraphale more hot under the collar than he already was, it was the fact that Crowley seemed to be staring into his soul while he sang and performed this song. Knowing the meaning and the lyrics made him rethink Crowley's intentions during their brief conversation. It wasn't as though Aziraphale was a complete stranger to being courted, after all. A small part of him dared to hope in what he was thinking.

_Come out, come out. come out Virginia don't let me wait_

_You catholic girls start much too late_

_Ah, but sooner or later it comes down to faith_

_I might as well be the one_

_Darlin only the good die young_

When Crowley had finished with a flourish, the crowd of people who were all at least bordering drunk cheered. Aziraphale clapped along and wondered absent-mindedly when he'd ordered two more drinks and finished them. Maybe the alcohol was affecting him a little more than he thought. Anathema, who was still beside him with a smirk, had been joined by Newt, and Aziraphale had just about remembered to wish him a happy birthday. They really did look cute together.

"So, are you gonna tell me what all _that_ was about?" Anathema, never one to back down, gave Aziraphale a very pointed look. The man stiffened under her gaze and tried to come up with an excuse, a diversion, anything so he wouldn't have to admit that he has no idea what is happening (but that doesn't mean he's against it). 

People began to leave, wishing Newt a goodbye and happy birthday, leaving only a handful of people behind, as well as Crowley who had begun to pack up his equipment. Could it really be one in the morning already? 

"I don't know what you're talking about." 

Unfortunately for Aziraphale, a slightly tipsy Newt had become interested in the conversation and was now looking expectantly at Anathema for answers, and even more unfortuately for Aziraphale, she was far too willing to give them.

"I think my dear friend here, has a little crush on the musician you hired for the party." 

Newt smiled, almost knowingly, at the same time Aziraphale buried his head in his hands. 

"I think you should talk to him. I mean, whats the worst that could happen?"

"I could be totally humiliated for one. No, I'm sorry Anathema, but I think its best to just go home."

Anathema frowns slightly, but to Aziraphale's relief, doesn't protest. He feels terrible for dragging her away from Newt on his birthday, but he doesn't think he can stand to be in the same room as Crowley for much longer before the alcohol in his blood takes over and he does something entirely reckless. Anathema said goodbye to Newt with a kiss on his cheek - really they are far too adorable for their own good - and they both began to make their way towards the door.

The cool air hit Aziraphale the second they got outside, making him realise that he might be slightly more drunk then he'd bargained for. _That's what I get for never going to parties and building up a tolerance,_ he thought. 

"So, why didn't you want to talk to him? He seemed very interested for what I could tell." The pair began walking the short walk to Anathema's house, shivering only slightly. 

"Well it's just, I haven't had anyone interested in me in quite a while, you know that. What if it turns out that he doesn't want the same things I want, anyway? Just because he's beautiful doesn't mean I'd raise all heaven and hell to be with him. If the universe doesn't give me a sign, then I'm not going to take simple flirting as one."

No sooner had the words left Aziraphale's mouth, he heard footsteps behind him. 

"Angel!" 

The two of them turned to see a slightly dishevelled Crowley making his way up the road. It might have only been a short distance, but he was seemingly out of breath from running. A much calmer Newt was quite a few paces behind him, seemingly not in a rush.

"Angel?" Aziraphale inquired before his brain could kick in. 

Crowley grinned devilishly. "Never gave me your name, did you? I had to think of something. Fitting too, because you definitely look like one." 

"I think I forgot... my... excuse, I'll be back in a moment." Ever so tactfully, Anathema made her way to Newt, who was standing by the corner, trying very hard to act like he wasn't watching it all unfold. 

"Newt made me go get you, he said that since he confessed his feelings to Anathema, I can't act like a coward. Listen, I know this is gonna sound crazy, okay, since we don't know each other, but I'd really like to. I'm not exactly Mr Smooth unless I have my guitar in front of me, so I'm risking looking really embarrassing right now, so if you don't want anything to do with me, can you let me down gently?"

"Are you asking me out on a date?"

Aziraphale couldn't believe his ears. This man, this frankly _stunning_ , man had chased him down the road to confess that he liked him. And now he thought he was going to be rejected?

"Uh, yes. I guess I am." 

"I'd like that."

"That's okay, I'll just let Newt know and- _wait what?"_

Aziraphale grinned at Crowley, who was now becoming slightly flustered.

"I said I'd like that."

"Uh, well, great, wonderful, how does next Saturday sound?" 

"Next Saturday sounds perfect, but I have to ask, did you only pluck up the courage to ask because Newt said that he had?"

Airaphale had a feeling he knew where this was going, but he had to ask. He glanced over at Anathema and Newt, who were doing their best (but terrible) job at pretending that they weren't listening. 

"Sort of, yeah. I wanted to, but I guess I needed a push." 

Aziraphale laughed and Crowley looked at him in confusion. 

"That's funny, because you know, Anathema actually confessed her feelings and asked Newt out first, not the other way around."

"That bastard." 


End file.
